


Various and Sundry

by obbel



Category: Latin American Celebrities RPF, Reggaetón Music RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Magic, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Gen, Happily Ever After, M/M, Pets, Prompt Fill, Reggaetón RPF - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obbel/pseuds/obbel
Summary: Prompt fills from social media. Various pairings, situations, etc.
Relationships: J Balvin/Bad Bunny, J Balvin/Maluma, J Balvin/Nicky Jam, Karol G/Anuel AA, Karol G/Becky G, Natalia Barulich/Esther Anaya
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Untitled Becky G/Karol G

**Author's Note:**

> Index up front because I'm considerate like that:
> 
> 1\. Becky G/Karol G  
> 2\. Anuel AA and Bad Bunny high school juvenile delinquents  
> 3\. J Balvin/Maluma angels and demons (not Dan Brown)*  
> 4\. J Balvin/Bad Bunny angst  
> 5\. Technically gen but absolutely J Balvin/Maluma  
> 6\. Maluma gen fluff about his pets  
> 7\. Technically _not_ J Balvin/Maluma but in my head it's enemies to lovers so  
> 8\. J Balvin/Nicky Jam domestic snowball fight fluff  
> 9\. J Balvin/Maluma happily ever after  
> 10\. Valentina and Natalia as witches. Implied Natalia/Esther  
> 11\. J Balvin, Maluma, and J Balvin’s enormous crush on Pharrell
> 
> *Written in Spanish

_ “Qué bella estás,” _ Karol says, waving at Becky as she makes her entrance. They’re at some promotional event that was booked last minute, and it’s not that Karol doesn’t want to be here, but. Karol kind of doesn’t want to be here. It’s full of sleazy promoters that don’t know her and don’t know her music. They don’t care about her, that much was clear when she received her name tag spelled with a C. She eyed it distastefully and then hid it in a plant, feigning innocence when the staff assistants asked her where it went.

She’s so glad to see a familiar face, and a pretty one, at that.

_ “Hola bonita,” _ Becky greets her back, walking up to her to be photographed together and kissing her cheek. Becky lets her hand linger a moment longer than necessary on Karol’s lower back.

“Becky! Karol!” A reporter yells, a fake smile plastered on his face as he shoves a microphone in their faces. Becky drops her hand. “How is it working together? Do you two get along? Any catfights?” He actually meows. Karol wants to claw his vocal cords out.

“It’s wonderful,” Karol says, using her most diplomatic voice. “I love working with strong women like Becky.  _ Nos caemos bien porque somos las G.”  _ She gives a megawatt smile and turns away from the cameras.

Becky follows her, leaning in to whisper in Karol’s ear as they walk away, “you like working with me  _ porque yo te encontré el punto G.” _

Karol smiles even bigger, trying not to blush.


	2. Untitled Anuel AA and Bad Bunny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some backstory here since I was too lazy to actually write it: they're not singers, just dumb teenagers in Puerto Rico who got into some shady situations that lead to real consequences.
> 
> Shippy if you squint.

They’re not  _ not _ friends, but they’re not really friends, either. Maybe they used to be, but now… Anuel thinks about all the shit he’s talked about Bad Bunny and tries to feel bad about it.

“Hey man,” he says, and Anuel glances up. “I don’t want to be here, either. But, uh.” He trails off. 

Anuel waits for him to finish talking. He doesn’t. Anuel tilts his chin out, hoping to provoke some more conversation. It’s not that he wants to talk to Bad Bunny, but the alternative is staring at the wall until someone comes to fix the elevator, and since the power’s off and the cell service with it, that doesn’t seem to be happening anytime soon.

“Maybe we could talk about what happened.”

Anuel changes his mind. Staring at the wall is better.

“Nah,” he mumbles. “Nah.”

“Okay, cool. Fuck you, too.”

He’s not gonna react to that. He’s not gonna react to that. He’s not—

“Fuck you, you little snitch.” Anuel stands up from where he was slumped against the elevator wall.

“I’m not a fucking snitch! I didn’t fucking snitch! I tried to save your stupid ass.”

“Well, you didn’t. I got locked up. And now I’m locked up again right now, so congrats. You got what you wanted.”

“You think I wanted this?”

Anuel shrugs, refusing to answer. He goes back to sitting against the wall. “Fuck if I know what you want.”


	3. we're all winging it, that's what angels do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> J Balvin is an angel. Maluma is a demon. They're making it work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in Spanish, but it's too short to post on its own, I think. Apologies for lumping it in with English language content.
> 
> Inspired by the very talented [ @balumalove](https://www.instagram.com/p/B4_oCADFcuJLe_AZhW4El5iGtlAow9dancMI1w0/) on Instagram. It's a private account, but go request to follow them for seriously adorable J Balvin/Maluma drawings, fics, and more!

De repente, hay un calor el en aire. Balvin va flotando hacia las Puertas Perladas cuando lo siente. Se gira para mirar lo que hay, y ahí ve a Maluma en el otro lado de las Puertas. Está quitándose las nubes de la chaqueta con una expresión irritada en la cara. Los que están esperando en la fila lo miran con temor, alejándose del demonio que va a avanzando hacia el principio de la fila, sin tomar en cuenta a los demás.

Balvin mira como Maluma le habla a San Pedro, mostrándole un papel enrollado con un sello dorado. San Pedro inspecciona el papel y después mira a Maluma de manera escrutadora. Maluma le frunce el ceño.

“Oye, viejo, me vas a dejar pasar o qué?”

San Pedro hace un sonido con la lengua contra los dientes, moviendo la cabeza de forma decepcionada. “No te demores, Juan.”

Maluma le da un saludo militar y un guiño. San Pedro lo ignora, y vuelve a mirar su libro, llamando los nombres de los almas esperando afuera.

Balvin se esconde rápido detrás de una torre de nubes, fuera de la vista de los otros ángeles.

“Psst!” le llama a Maluma, quien aparece a su lado en un instante. “Qué haces aquí? Pensé que nos íbamos a ver la otra semana.”

“Sí, pero no vine por ti. Estoy acá en capacidad oficial.” Maluma le muestra el papel, y Balvin mira el sello dorado. Es de San Gabriel.

“Oh, okay,” Balvin le dice, y se nota la decepción en su voz.

Maluma mantiene el acto sólo un par de segundos más antes de sonreír tan grande que se le ven los dientes caninos.

“Ay, bobo,” le dice Maluma, abriendo el papel para mostrar su contenido. No hay nada por dentro.

“Juan!” Balvin le regaña. “Qué hiciste?”

“Le robé la estampilla a San Gabriel! Qué chimba, no?”

Balvin le mira con incredulidad. “Qué?!”

“Sí,” Maluma le dice. “Bacano! Ahora te puedo visitar cuando quiera.”

“No deberías haberlo hecho,” Balvin dice, pero está sonriendo de a poco.

“Vivir tanto en el paraíso te puso aburrido.” Le da un golpecito al halo con el dedo, dejándolo torcido.

Balvin se arregla rápido el halo, reclamándole a Maluma. Lo empuja, pero Maluma le atrapa la mano, tirándole para que se caiga en los brazos de él. Balvin pone una mano en su pecho, sintiendo el calor de su piel, como si estuviera encendido.

“No soy aburrido.”

“A ver, muéstrame,” Maluma le dice con una sonrisa de pura mala intención. Balvin pone los ojos en blanco, pero después de echar un vistazo alrededor, le da un beso. Con lengua.

Maluma se ríe, y Balvin le besa la sonrisa.


	4. Untitled J Balvin/Bad Bunny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "Vete is about J Balvin."

If he’s going to be honest — and he should be since he has nothing but time sitting around waiting for the flu to go away — it’s probably a little bit his fault, too, for never setting up any kind of boundaries or ground rules or whatever kind of things mature, healthy adults do when they start fucking each other.

But that didn’t happen. In hindsight, maybe dropping a surprise go to hell anthem wasn’t the best way to deal with his feelings. That’s not even the pettiest thing he’s done this year, though, so he feels pretty okay about it.

He slurps his soup, remembering to move the mask first this time. _Sana, sana_ _colita de rana_ , he thinks, and if he’s talking about his heart as well as his lungs, well, that’s really no one’s business but his.


	5. La cama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "J Balvin/Maluma topping from the bottom." Since I put this one on Twitter, I took it in a slightly different direction than what the requester probably had in mind.

As soon as they get home, it’s on. They’re racing to the bedroom, tripping up the stairs and not bothering to keep quiet about it. Balvin pulls Maluma’s jacket off, leaving it in the stairwell for someone to pick up tomorrow.

They burst through the doorway, pushing up against one another. Maluma has the advantage of a few extra inches, and he sprints to the bed, launching himself onto the top bunk.

“Mine! You lose! That’s what you get for cheating. I told you, no interfering!”

Balvin flops down onto the bottom bunk in defeat, but he accepts his loss graciously. Until he realizes that the top bunk isn’t bolted into the bed frame and that he can move the mattress with his feet. He keeps Maluma up all night.


	6. Untitled Maluma gen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "Maluma taking care of his pets."

Bonnie and Clyde are always the first to greet him when he gets home. They run up to him in tandem, tails wagging, and between the two of them, they could probably knock him over if they really coordinated the effort.

Chianti and Príncipe are more laissez-faire about the whole ordeal, preferring to stay on the couch, drooling happily. Julieta, when it’s his turn to keep her, always does her best to get stepped on, it seems. She runs around, making figure eights through his legs until he scoops her up and brings her outside to see the horses. 


	7. Untitled pre-ship J Balvin/Maluma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "Balvin and Maluma on set of Qué Pena BUT they still hate each other." AND IT WAS SO HARD TO WRITE.

“I don’t really sound like that,” Maluma says after Balvin’s done his take. Balvin thought _leaving the set_ and going to the _opposite corner of the studio_ was pretty clear code for _don’t talk to me_ , but maybe he should have lowered his expectations towards someone who calls himself “Pretty Boy Dirty Boy.”

Balvin gives him a once over. He’s still wearing the Bvlgari outfit. Balvin wonders if they preemptively made him a shirt that won’t button above the sternum, or if Maluma had to request it specifically.

“Yes, you do,” Balvin says,

“You’re really going to tell me how I sound?”

Balvin scoffs. “Whatever. I know what you sound like, and that was a good impression. Better than yours.”

“Oh, really?”

“All you did was check yourself out in the mirror and say ‘for the culture’.”

“Because that’s what you do? Next time I’ll dye my hair neon, and then it’ll be more obvious.” Maluma rolls his eyes.

“You already did that. It wasn’t a good look,” Balvin says, rolling his eyes right back.

“How do you know that? You keeping up with me?”

Balvin frowns at him. “No,” he says, not as steadily as he’d like.

“It’s okay,” Maluma says. “You can be a fan. You’re not the only one.” And with that, he waltzes off to his corner of the room. Balvin glares at his back as he leaves.


	8. Untitled J Balvin/Nicky Jam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> J Balvin and Nicky Jam have a snowball fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was, verbatim, "anything jb/nj where they’re doing more than pining, please, my family is starving." Written for RJ, who is actually the best at anonymous prompting.

“Don’t look!”

Nicky looks. He gets hit in the face with a particularly well-aimed snowball.

“I told you not to look!” Balvin yells from across their yard. He’s nowhere to be seen. He must have ducked down behind his obnoxiously tall and sturdy snow fort. Nicky has no idea how he builds the walls so high, and Balvin won’t share his secrets.

Nicky decides to switch up tactics. Balvin’s well protected on three sides, but that means he’s lost the visual advantage. Nicky rolls around the side of his slightly less impressive snow wall, running as fast as he can for cover to a tree, cutting the distance between them in half. He crouches down, turned sideways so as not to be seen.

Balvin pokes his head out again, looking for Nicky. As soon as he disappears, Nicky takes off running again, skidding to a halt right in front of the fort. He lies on the ground, pressed up against the wall, hoping that Balvin’s built it up tall enough so he won’t be able to see directly in front. Balvin pops up again, and sure enough, he can’t see Nicky.

Nicky sneaks carefully around the back to the entrance, careful to not let his footsteps in the crunchy snow give him away. He waits for the perfect moment, when Balvin has just ducked down again, and then he pounces. Nicky catches Balvin so off guard that they both slip and fall, blow only cushioned by the heavy layers of winter clothing. Nicky grins down at Balvin beneath him. He looks annoyed.

“Not only did you move us to a place with this much snow, now you’re cheating at your dumb snow game.”

“Who says this is cheating?”

“You! You said you can’t cross into the other person’s territory.”

“Technically all of this is  _ our _ territory, since we own the house.”

Balvin rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Nick.”

“You gonna make me?”

Balvin sighs, then tugs him closer. As soon as Nicky’s eyes are closed, he shoves a snowball down the back of his jacket and takes off running to the house.


	9. De aquí no te vas (si te vas es conmigo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> J Balvin and Maluma get married in Cartagena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is all [@yehwellwhatever's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yehwellwhatever/pseuds/yehwellwhatever) [fault.](https://twitter.com/yehwellwhatever/status/1198641819480985602)

There’s a wedding parade every day in Cartagena. A few years ago, in another lifetime, Balvin would be numb to them by now, annoyed with the noise, and the commotion, and the way they take up the whole of the narrow, cobblestone street.

But now, he watches the dancers, flowing white dresses swirling around brown skin and red lips grinning. Even though he’s seen them perform three days in a row, he can’t help but smile back, clap along to the beat of the drums. There’s too much joy in the air, too much love to be a cynic.

He grabs Maluma, and they follow along behind the parade, joining in with the other tourists who take pictures and point excitedly. They make their way to the front of the crowd, trying to get closer, to see the dancers well enough to copy them. They’re better at it now than they were three days ago. Maluma almost has the whole routine down. He’s figured out all the spins, and on the last one, he grabs Balvin by the arm, twirling him around, too, and laughing at his surprised face. Maluma doesn’t let go when the music stops. Instead he uses the momentum to push Balvin down a side street away from the fanfare.

There’s no one else there, so they hold hands, meandering through the maze of colonial buildings and stopping to peer through metal grates into the gardens. Each one is cozier than the last, and Balvin imagines what it would be like to live there, to sit with Maluma in front of the fountain and drink tea in the afternoons.

Finally, they find an unbarred courtyard. It feels like they’re being let in on a secret, a hidden world of stone archways and slender palm trees and gentle falling water. Maluma walks through the open entryway, and Balvin stares after him for a moment before hurrying to catch up.

Maluma notices that he’s being followed, and he cuts quickly to the right, hiding behind a pillar. Balvin chases him around it several times before Maluma stops abruptly. Balvin lets himself crash into Maluma, who catches him with a soft  _ oof _ sound. He stares up at Maluma, wondering how he got so lucky.

They’re interrupted by a trim woman in a suit who clears her throat and asks if they need help.

“Sorry. We thought this was the hotel,” Maluma says in English, doing his best American accent. It’s not entirely convincing.

“This is not a hotel, sir. This is a private residence.”

“Sorry!” says Balvin, not even bothering to try and disguise his voice. “We’re going now.”

They leave, giggling like school children and not glancing back. They wander aimlessly, picking streets based on how empty they are, pointing out all the things that are particularly beautiful: a house painted brilliant turquoise, a dozen strings of paper lanterns hung up between buildings, a white-haired couple smiling affectionately at one another. Balvin glances down at his hand in Maluma’s, feeling the ring on his fourth finger. Maluma notices, and he leans over to kiss Ballvin’s temple.

Eventually, they loop back around towards their actual hotel, and from a distance, they see the same group of dancers from before. They’re done performing, but they’re still dressed up. Balvin and Maluma hang back for a moment, not wanting to be recognized. It’s unlikely, what with the sheer amount of tourists here. But they’ve seen the same people every day since they got here, and they don’t want to risk it. As they’re lingering on the corner, Balvin watches the women chat and laugh with one another while they make their way down the street, walking on the sidewalk this time. 

Balvin turns to Maluma. “It’s nice that they throw us a wedding parade every day. I know you wanted to do it in a church, but maybe this makes up for it.”

Maluma rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Yeah, that makes it a little better.”

“Tomorrow I’ll ask those other people to get out of the way. I don’t know why they walk in the middle of  _ our _ celebration. And the women are always in wedding gowns! That’s a little tacky.”

“Shut up,” Maluma says, laughing. “I can’t believe I agreed to marry you.”

Balvin can’t believe it either. But it’s true. He saw it with his own two eyes. There’s a piece of paper, signed, stamped, and filed with the  _ notario.  _ It has both their names on it, declaring them legally married in the eyes of the state.

Balvin knocks their shoulders together, gently, and they make their way to the hotel now that the coast is clear. They walk up the stairs, leisurely, breathing in the salt-tinged air and letting their fingers brush as they climb. They’re in no hurry. They have forever together.


	10. Una bruja negociante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentina and Natalia are witches. Implied Natalia/Esther and Karol G/Anuel AA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is content I had to cut from another project. I reworked it here so as to not leave it rotting in the doc forever. Written around Halloween, hence the witchy theme and the fact that I'm writing about Natalia ahem. Title from [José.](https://twitter.com/JBALVIN/status/1183976316124549120?s=20)

_“Hola Naty, cómo estás?"_ Valentina’s voice sounds a little tinny through the speaker. Natalia taps the phone with her finger, and the sound quality improves considerably _. “Amiga,"_ Valentina says. "I need to talk to you, but I’m at a shoot. Later?”

Natalia can hear the camera clicking in the background. “Okay, I’ll be waiting!”

Valentina shows up around eight, California time. She’s wearing a one piece swimsuit with men’s button up shirt over it. She apologizes for the outfit, saying she had to leave in a hurry. Natalia waves her off, hugging her tightly before welcoming her inside. Valentina makes herself comfortable in the living room, perched on Natalia’s sofa.

“You want something to drink?”

“I brought mate.” A gourd materializes out of thin air, followed by a fat metal straw. Valentina sips daintily.

Natalia hums and makes herself a cup of coffee. She sits down next to Valentina.

“How’s Miami?”

“Humid, like always. But I had a good time. Swimwear is fun to shoot.”

“Yeah, because look at your body.” Natalia waves a finger in the air, drawing a glowing line from Valentina’s waist up to her face.

“Stop. I would kill for your shape.” Valentina rolls her eyes, swatting at the remaining glow. It disappears.

“Thank you,” Natalia says. 

“So listen,” Valentina says, getting down to business. “I need some help on a project.”

Natalia raises an eyebrow.

“I have a new contract, but shouldn't have taken it, Naty. This guy is so dumb!”

Natalia giggles. She peers at Valentina over her coffee cup.

Valentina continues. “Don’t laugh!” Valentina puts her head in her free hand. “I’m serious. He wants a love potion, but he wants it to be ‘realistic.’” Valentina scoffs. “You know how they get all caught up in the fantasy.”

“You would take something like that. Did you even read the contract first? How much is he offering?”

“Enough,” Valentina says pointedly. Natalia nods. “I didn’t think it would be this hard but my God, Nat, he can't even call her by her first name. It's all _'bebecita,' 'diablita,' el boludo."_

Natalia laughs harder, shoulders shaking. She puts down the coffee cup, lest it spill on the white sofa. Valentina frowns at her until she stops.

“So what do you want to do about it? Are you going to give up the contract?” Natalia does her best to not burst out laughing again. She picks her coffee back up and sips.

Valentina sighs. “I don’t know,” she mutters. Then, glaring at her cup, “I don’t want to admit I was wrong.”

Natalia puts her mug back down again. She rubs Valentina’s shoulder, and Valentina sighs. “You’re something else, sweetheart. Just tell him no more deal. It's not that hard.” Valentina cuts her eyes at Natalia, who laughs. She tosses the metal straw at her. Natalia whisks it away without missing a beat.

“Hey,” Valentina says. “That was my last one.”

“It’s at your house. Relax.”

Valentina sighs. Natalia sends her mug into the kitchen.

“You're making me sad, moping like this. Come on. You know I don’t do feelings anymore, but I do have something I want to show you. Maybe it’ll spark some ideas.” She stands up, holding her hand out to help Valentina off the couch. 

Valentina takes it and follows her into the guest room. She eyes Natalia’s set up, which has changed since her last visit. There’s a large bookcase talking up most of one wall. Across from that is a lab table piled high with Natalia’s experiments. Valentina notices three Bunsen burners on full blast, liquids of various colors boiling in glass beakers on top.

Natalia walks past the table to scoop up Julieta, who was napping in a very fancy dog bed. She holds her in one hand while explaining to Valentina.

“Esther came up with this. It’s pretty cool.” She picks up one of the beakers with a potholder and swirls it around. The liquid changes from white to black and back and forth with each swirl.

“What does it do?”

Natalia puts the beaker back on the burner. Then she leans in to whisper in Valentina’s ear. Valentina’s eyes light up, and she breaks out into a grin.

“Can I try some?”

“Of course,” Natalia says. She absentmindedly pets Julieta’s head. Julieta wags her tail slowly, and her eyes glow a soft, radiating gold.

―

A few months later, Natalia’s phone buzzes.

_Naty!_

_Qué pasa babe_

There’s an incoming FaceTime call. Natalia answers. She’s in the kitchen, making breakfast. She puts the phone in mid air, camera pointed at her face so as to free up her hands.

“You remember that contract I was complaining to you about?”

“Yeah,” Natalia says, nodding. She puts a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, then thinks better of it. She taps the side of the machine, and her toast pops up, evenly browned.

“Why do you even bother with that?” Valentina asks, rolling her eyes.

“It was a gift,” Natalia says, a little defensively.

Valentina just laughs. “Anyway. Check YouTube later,” she says. “They just did an interview.” She cackles loudly.

Natalia smiles, not sure what Valentina’s alluding to. But it sounds like it’ll be good. She takes her toast out of the toaster and starts cutting up an avocado, listening to Valentina chat away as she spreads the avocado on the toast. Natalia sprinkles salt on top and moves to the kitchen table as they catch up.

“You have to watch the video. Promise,” Valentina says, wrapping up the conversation. 

“I will.”

“And thank you for letting me try the potion. That was actually really inspiring. Thank Esther for me.”

“You could come thank her yourself,” Natalia says, smirking. “She’s coming over later.”

Valentina rolls her eyes. “For the last time, _cariño,_ I’m straight.”

“So is spaghetti, until things get hot.” Natalia winks at Valentina. 

“I don’t eat spaghetti.”

Natalia grins at her through the phone. “I just want you to know, I’m resisting making a joke about what else you could be eating.”

“That’s why I love you,” Valentina says, and she hangs up. 

Natalia laughs to herself. She thinks about Esther’s upcoming arrival. She still has a little time to kill. Natalia takes her phone out of the air and absentmindedly starts scrolling through Instagram. Her eye catches on an IGTV post. She opens the video and nearly chokes on her toast. The matching too hoodies are too much, and is that, no, it can’t be. But it is. Screen printed across the front is a photo of them in their underwear.

 _Good job, Vale,_ she thinks. _You’ve outdone yourself._ And then, _I wonder if Esther would go for something like that._


	11. Untitled J Balvin/Maluma, J Balvin/Pharrell (unrequited)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one actually asked for this, but I don’t know what else to do with it.

Balvin’s been quiet for a while, Maluma notices, staring at his phone and scrolling. He nudges him with his foot from the other side of the sofa. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” Balvin says, caught off guard. In his panic to swipe backwards and hide what he was doing, he accidentally double taps. “Oh, fuck.” He puts his face in his hands.

“Is there something you’d like to share with me?” Maluma asks. 

Balvin says “no” through his fingers, and then he gives Maluma an entirely unconvincing smile.

“I respect your privacy, but that was very suspicious behavior. I hope you don’t feel the need to hide things from me,” Maluma says. He’s using his Mature Adult Voice. Balvin regrets encouraging him to meditate more.

Balvin sighs. “I’m on Instagram.”

“Alright,” Maluma says, implying with his eyebrows that Balvin should continue.

“I’m looking at pictures,” Balvin says to his shoes. “I liked one by accident.”

“Whose pictures?”

Balvin won’t make eye contact. Maluma clears his throat. Finally, Balvin mutters something Maluma can’t quite make out.

“What?”

“...feral.”

“What?”

Balvin throws his hands up in defeat. “Pharrell,” he grumbles.

“Oh,” Maluma says. He looks relieved. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Everyone knows you have a crush on Pharrell,” Maluma says, waving his hand dismissively. “I thought you liked something offensive.”

“I don’t,” Balvin starts, and Maluma fixes him with a look. “No, it wasn’t that bad, I guess,” he finishes lamely.

“Exactly,” Maluma says. “Was it at least a picture of you two together?”

Balvin winces and hands his phone over, and Maluma scoots closer to look. It is not a picture of them together. It’s a selfie. A very nice selfie from—

“This is from two thousand eighteen!” Maluma says, fighting to keep the glee from overtaking the empathy in his voice. He is not successful.

“It’s from January,” Balvin says immediately, as if that made a difference.

“January _two thousand eighteen!”_ Maluma yells, all pretense forgone as he mocks Balvin mercilessly.

“This was your fault,” Balvin says. “You made me do this.”

“This was in no way my fault,” Maluma says through his laughter. Balvin sulks, and that just makes him laugh harder.

“I don’t feel very supported by you right now,” Balvin says. Two can play at the Mature Adult game. “We are supposed to be a team.”

Maluma laughs again, but it’s slightly less malicious. Slightly. “We are a team,” he says, patting Balvin on the leg. “So I will also like Pharrell’s picture. From two thousand eighteen.” He dissolves back into giggles.

Balvin glares at him, but Maluma pretends he doesn’t see. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through Pharrell’s posts, looking for the green hat he was wearing in the picture. He stops at one photo, but he sees Balvin shaking his head in his peripheral vision.

“That’s not it,” Balvin says, blushing and speaking in an angry mumble. “It’s after the GQ shoot. Or before, I guess. Whatever.”

Maluma bites very hard on the inside of his lip, but it’s still not enough to contain his grin as he finds the right picture and likes it. 

“You’re lucky I’m not the jealous type,” he says, leaning over to kiss Balvin on the side of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pharrell's Instagram.](https://imgur.com/9iUcGnV)


End file.
